


Chlorophobia

by calysto1395



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age 2, Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-13 09:09:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4516128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calysto1395/pseuds/calysto1395
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chlorophobia - An abnormal aversion to green</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chlorophobia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LionessContessa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LionessContessa/gifts).



> Just a heads up for everyone this work includes: mentions of suicide, infertility, a little bit of canon typical violence, inaccurate depiction of card games and nightmares

Hawke always knew when she was dreaming. It was, she supposed, one of the many things that was unique about being a mage. The architecture of a dream was so incredibly familiar to her that she could always recognize it without even trying. It was a fact that she was instantly aware of, like one might be of the air around them or the beating of their heart.

It hadn't always been like this, it had been a skill painfully learned with years and years of exposure. She supposed all mages acquired that skill sooner or later, just like channelling energy through a staff or the constant caution around templars. 

In their core, dreams were all the same, originating from the Fade, they were always too perfect at first. Either too bright, too warm, too happy or they were too dark, too cold, too sad. Perfect, one way or the other. 

Everything is a lie, or a trick, or a trap.

Hawke only ever remembered her dreams when demons tried to tempt her, which was almost every time she slept. But that wasn't the point. 

The point was that the bed she was sitting on wasn't real. The fire in the fireplace was an illusion, as was the feeling of soft fabric against her naked skin. The smell of burning wood and sweat and musk had been constructed from her memories to fool her. The crinkle of the letters in her lap and the words written in them were lies on lies. Nothing here was true. 

She skimmed the letters on her lap. Messages from Carver. He was more forthcoming in his most recent letter than usual. He always wrote a little more about his life when they hadn't heard from each other in a long time. Carver and his comrades had been ordered to Weisshaupt, which according to Carver was even more dreadful than Kirkwall with its chained slave statues. Truly a feat that he had deemed impossible. 

A warm large hand touched the small of her back. The skin was rough, shaped by battle, covered in little scars and calluses. A familiar hand only in the Fade that regardless brought a smile on her lips. To finally have this, it could only be a dream. 

She peeked over her shoulder at Varric lounging on the bed next to her with a contented smile on his handsome face. 

"How is Junior?" He asked. She loved his voice, soft as silk and as deadly as poison. Incredibly lovely. In all her years she hadn't heard anything comparable. 

She lifted one of her brows. "You mean you haven't read these?" She lifted the letters in emphasis. They crinkled in her hand as if out of protest.

"I would never." He lied, smirking. 

"He is being a whiny baby as usual." Hawke decided to humour him, she could lie almost as well as him. Truth was, Carver only pretended to be the person he was before the Deep Roads in his letters to her. Over the years, he had grown into a man, a different person altogether. Mother and father would have been so proud of him, their only normal child a grey warden. Such an honor. Hawke could never tell if he pretended for his or her benefit. Maybe he wished for simpler times, when they both were thugs in Kirkwall, sharing a room with their mother and her mabari. Nothing to worry about other than the next meal. 

Varric chuckled and started to stroke her back, no other intent other than to touch her. She sighed, content, and leaned into his touch. 

"While we are on the topic-" He started.

"You really want to talk about my brother? While we are naked? In bed?" Hawke wiggled her eyebrows at him and her eyes indicated all the things they could be doing instead. She gazed along his hairy chest, his pendant glowed golden in the firelight and appeared downright tempting. 

"No. I was referring to the baby part of your sentence." He said and she turned her attention away from his jewellery and back to her brother’s words. 

Weisshaupt was cold this time of the year accompanied by terrible dust storms, who knew? Also Alistair was a terrible busybody who had no idea what any of the Wardens were supposed to be doing, according to Carver. Hawke could have told him that before they had all marched to Weisshaupt. She liked to think that she knew Alistair quite well by now, and traveling all over Ferelden with him would do that to a person. Alistair was a good man no doubt, but he wasn't the brightest. More used to following than to leading. Not that Hawke was an excellent judge of that particular trait in character. 

"Are we talking dragon babies because that would be splendid," She muttered and began to chew on her thumbnail. There was still blood underneath it.

"I was talking about the human and dwarven variety, actually." Varric replied easily. 

There was another Warden Carver couldn't stop talking about. A dwarf named Oghren who smelled worse than the entirety of the Hanged Man, though Hawke had trouble imagining that. 

She hummed, knowing Varric would feel the vibration of it over her spine and on his fingers. 

"Would you like children, Hawke?" He finally asked bluntly when she wouldn't grace him with another response. 

There was another dwarf with the wardens, Sigrun, whom Carver liked. The two of them often told stories about their dear cousin the Hero of Ferelden. They also seemed to know Anders and thought him to be dead, if their stories were to be believed. Hawke had seen stranger things in her life. The world wasn't as big as people pretended it to be. 

"As servants? Or weapons? I've been told a child launched at great speed could potentially be deadly." She remembered the phrase almost perfectly. Only whom she had heard it from wouldn't come to her mind. She had never been good with names.

"Just offspring, mind you. Though I am sure they'll prove to be somewhat useful for other things when they are older." 

More complaining about the weather, how the years in the Free Marches had gotten Carver used to the warmth instead of the wet and cold that was the Anderfels right now. Oh, who was she kidding anymore? She abandoned the letters, pushing them to the foot of the bed and turned to Varric. His hand shifted with her, coming to rest on her waist. 

"Do you want children, Varric?" 

"I wouldn't be opposed to it at any rate." 

She squinted at him. "Are you sure? Have you ever been around a child? I helped raise twins. They were terrible pests as children." 

"Your brother is still a pest as an adult." 

Hawke nodded in agreement and shifted again. She laid her head on his shoulder and planted an arm over his chest, her own dark skin against his made him almost look pale. The contrast reminded her of Isabela, seeing her off at a port before she and her ship disappeared behind the horizon. Isabela had bad memories of Ferelden and hadn't been to keen on staying as long as Hawke had business in the area. A pirate ship didn't wait for anyone. 

They remained silent for a little while. Varric brushed his arm up and down her back and Hawke enjoyed the feel of his chest hair on her naked skin. 

"It was just an idea." He said after a while without a hint of judgement. 

Hawke took a deep breath.

"I can't have children." 

She felt Varric nod against her head. "Alright." He didn't understand. She sat up with a groan and planted both her hands on his chest. 

"I mean I am unable to carry a child. Not that I don't want to. I mean I don't - want children that is. Not necessarily. But mostly I can't." She was babbling, so she stopped herself. 

Varric's movement stopped. The fire crackled and sparks flew into the air, aiming for the carpet lying in front of it. Tiny speck of light died before it even got halfway there. If Hawke wanted, she could have set the whole room on fire, including the carpet. 

"Remember the whole Arishok thing?" She asked to fill the silence. 

"In quite vivid detail." He replied and also sat up. His smirk from earlier had vanished. 

Hawke crossed her legs under her and he placed her hand on scar on her stomach, where the blighted Arishok had speared her on his huge fucking sword in front of half Kirkwall. The sound of her staff hitting the floor, when it had slipped from her fingers had been so incredibly loud to her. It had been the only thing she had been able to focus on. Her breath had left her and she had wanted nothing more than to closer her eyes and die right then and there. To just end the incredible pain.

"When Anders patched me up after the fight, my injuries were severe and Anders had to focus on the worst to keep me alive. When all was said and done, he couldn't save some of the less essential parts." Hawke waved her hands around for emphasis. 

Anders clinic always smelled like hay and piss and blood. Safe and familiar, like the puke and stale beer of the Hanged Man. He had looked devastated when he had told her. She had been unable to think of anything but 'thank the Maker'. Only later she had felt guilty, that the name Hawke would most likely die with her and Carver. 

How incredibly selfish of her. Or maybe selfless? Hawke had never really known the difference. 

"You never told us." You never told me, Varric didn't say. He didn't need too. It was written in his eyes and in the frown on his face. Hawke just shrugged.

"Didn't seem important." It still wasn't. "Not like we didn't have other things to worry about." For her it hadn't ever been a big deal. She had never wanted children to begin with. Another apostate? With the Champion of Kirkwall as a mother. Hawke might as well could have become the next Witch of the Wilds. Giving a kid the life she had had, always on the run, never settling down. No thanks. Even if it cost her something else. 

Varric cupped her face in his hands and planted a kiss right on her nose, despite her signature blood smear that she had forgotten to wash away. It felt tacky and itchy when she wrinkled her nose.

"If you want, we can always adopt. I don't care if it's children, or five nugs, or a two dozen mabari. As long as it's with you." He said and kissed her again, on her lips this time. 

She enjoyed the kiss, took a deep breath of his scent, letting it fill her lungs. His lips were chapped and a little stubble scratched her cheeks. The fire was crackling away, setting the perfect mood for a romantic evening. 

"I wish you were real." Hawke said when they parted and woke up. 

Waking up in the Fade was different than waking up back home. At home she would jerk awake from a nightmare, sometimes still shaking and disorientated but quickly reassured that she was awake and that he worst had passed even if she wouldn't get to sleep any more that night.

In the Fade it wasn't as clear. A dream dissolved as if washed away by a current, always leaving bits and pieces behind. The carpet that nearly caught fire was now buried halfway under some green rubble. The bed was disassembled a few feet away, most of it missing. Hawke could still feel Varric's touch like drops of water on her skin. 

Hawke felt like crying but knew she couldn't allow herself the pleasure, it would be just another weakness for the demons to exploit. The exhaustion was so heavy in her bones it was another weight she had to drag along. Her own heartbeat was another such burden. It would be so easy to just let go and stay right where she was, let a demon take her, let herself be consumed by another fantasy. Maybe it would have been kinder to let herself be defeated by the Nightmare. 

"I really need to get out of here." She said to no one but herself and swallowed her sorrow. There would be time to go mad later. She had to keep going. Hawke took a deep breath, smelling musk and sweat and burning wood and started walking again. As much as she wished to just collapse and drink herself to death, now wasn't the time, mostly because Hawke was lacking the liquor. 

After Hawke had gotten away from the Nightmare, and the Rift closed, she thought that she just needed to find another Rift. They had entered through one, why shouldn't she be able to leave the Fade through another one. It was a lot easier said than done. A lot. 

It had now happened four times that she got within viewing distance of a Rift only to have it close up right in front of her eyes. Not that she was blaming the Inquisition for being thorough but she kind of did blame them. Thedas had survived months with the Rifts it could have survived a bit longer with some of them. 

The longer Hawke was here, the harder it became to resist the demons. They were getting better with their deceptions. 

Believe nothing but yourself, Merrill had said. 

Easier said than done. 

The first few times were easy. Dreams of Carver and Bethany, teasing each other around a dinner table while her mother smiled at her father, who passed around a basket of bread. Hawke had given a piece of meat to her dog when Aveline and Donnic had come in, a little baby in their arms and followed by Varric, Isabela, Fenris and Merrill. Only after Anders had joined them as well, as if nothing had happened, had Hawke managed to break the illusion. Now they teased her with the pathetic little crush she had on her best friend. 

Time in the Fade was a strange twisted thing. She didn't know if years or months or hours had passed since the fight at Adamant. Maybe it was still going on. Hawke felt hunger and thirst since her arrival, her muscles were tired and strained. Her mere presence in the Fade was putting a toll on her body and every step she was walking through mud that made her boots heavier. 

Maybe the Rifts that kept disappearing in front of her were nothing more than another illusion, giving her hope only to crush it. She wouldn't put such sick games past any demon. 

Hawke couldn't give up now. The fifth Rift she had found was right in front of her. If she didn't try it, she could just as well give her body over to one of the evil spirits and become an abomination. That would show them. 

The Rifts were beautiful things, despite the terror they brought. The green light that danced like a ribbon and shimmered just like shells that washed up on the Wounded Coast. Only a few more steps now. Its brightness blinded her burning eyes and the soft white noise almost made her deaf. Her hand could touch it now. 

She just had to take another step. 

The mud was dragging her down. 

Her knees protested under the strain, threatening to give in.

Wind on her fingers.

The light shone so bright that she had to close her eyes against the pain. 

Sun on her skin. 

A roaring in her ears that put every dragon she had ever fought to shame.

Hawke woke up.

-

"There you are." 

A wooden ceiling was the first thing Hawke saw. Planks and beams, masterly crafted and put together, neat rows above her head that she started counting. At five her eyes stopped filling with tears, at eleven they had dried up. 

She had been so close. Hawke took a shuddering breath and focused on counting, there was no use dwelling on it now. 

"You scared the shit out of me Hawke. Never do that again." Varric said. His voice quivered a little bit, mostly masked with humour. It sounded almost like the real thing. 

42 planks and 5 beams held the ceiling above her. Oh, how she wished it would come down and crush her to end this mess once and for all. Not that Hawke ever was that lucky. Maybe if she just closed her eyes. Because that always helped. 

They had to run away from home for the first time in the twins’ life, four years old at the time and just old enough to be scared. Hawke had sat with them in the back of a shitty wagon, huddled together against the cold. She had told them that if they closed their eyes nothing bad could harm them. Carver had closed his eyes as hard as he could and clung to her even harder. Bethany, bright Bethany had stared at her for several moments. Long enough that Hawke had been sure that she would call her out on her bullshit. Then she had closed her eyes and buried into Hawke's side.

The bed beneath her was soft, clad with some sort of fur. The pillow was too flat for her preferences, but years on the run had eradicated any need for luxury Kirkwall had tempted her into. The blanket was light, but enough to keep her warm. 

"Hawke? Can you hear me?" He asked and grabbed her hand. It was cold and rough. Covered in little scars and calluses, shaped by battle. More of the same, time and time around. There was a slight tremble to his hold.

Breathing hurt, she realized. Everything hurt. The headache hit her like a club and reminded her of lyrium withdrawal, starting at her temples and hammering behind her eyes. Her muscles were still burning with exhaustion and her limbs wouldn't move no matter how much she willed them too. The most Hawke could muster was a slight wiggle of her toes. At least the demons had thought of a little variation this time around. Usually in their dreams she felt perfect, ecstatic. Not to say climactic. 

Details, details. 

Varric leaned above her, she could feel his breath on her face but his hand didn't leave hers. 

She opened her eyes and stared past his head for as long as she was able to resist. It was quite an interesting ceiling. Nice wood and all that. No stone whatsoever. Really. So interesting. Also no green. A huge bonus, really. How she hated green. 

"Hawke?" Varric demanded her sole attention. He often did, for all he hated being in the spotlight, he was remarkably well at taking it away from her new best friend, the ceiling. 

"I'm here." She muttered and Maker was her throat dry. Her lips struggled against her effort to open them and the inside of her mouth tried to compete with the floor of a brewery for taste. The all too familiar taste of blood was stuck at the back of her throat making her queasy. 

Varric's face relaxed with relief. The crease between his eyebrows disappeared and he clutched her hand tighter. The scar over his thick nose looked worse than she remembered, as did the rings beneath his eyes. This demon had paid particular attention to detail. He seemed so happy, all at once, with just one half-assed sentence from her. 

Maker, she missed him so much. She had to get back to him, if just to see if he was still alive. For all she knew he died at Adamant, slaughtered with the rest of the Inquisition's forces. Or maybe Corypheus had killed him, or kept him as a slave. Who knew with these mad evil magister darkspawn. Hawke needed to get up and start walking again. Find a rift, get out, kick Corypheus' ass. Again. That was the plan. 

If only she weren't so tired. 

Her eyes slid closed and she felt the throbbing behind her eyes lessen instantly. Varric placed his cold hand on her brow, smoothening out her hair and started to hum softly. She recognized the tune immediately. From warm and humid days spend in the shadows of the city and long nights at the Hanged Man when they were the only patrons still awake. She had almost forgotten the melody over the years. 

"Rest. I'll be here when you wake up." 

Hawke sighted heavily, felt all the feeling in her body leave her as she drifted off. 

"I wish you were really here." She mumbled and felt his caressing hand hesitate. 

It was the first time she remembered falling asleep in the Fade. At least something was different this time. She had been getting too fed up with the usual routine. 

What was that saying about an old dog learning new tricks? 

Hawke couldn't even think of the end of that sentence. 

She drifted off to Varric's humming.

-

Hawke woke up. 

The sun was shining right in her face.

Another new trick. 

She managed to open her eyes, only to stare right into the light of the open window. Under much strain, she managed to lift a hand to shield her eyes from the glow. A soft and warm draft came in, kissing her skin good morning. 

Every time before the windows had been dark. Night without any stars, completely black and void of any life beyond this bedroom. 

Now she could hear voices of soldiers outside, their armour clanking as they walked, merchants praising their wares and people laughing without a care in the world. 

Skyhold.

It was warmer than she remembered it being. 

How had the demons gotten so good? Hawke felt tears threatening to surface again but nipped that weakness right in the bud. The wind on her face felt real, just like the warmth of the sun and the fabric around her. There was a life outside this window and it wasn't real no matter how much she wanted it to be. She was so incredibly tired, Maker, it would be easy to rest here. Just lose herself in this illusion and be happy for a change or at the very least content. 

Hawke had to keep fighting. People were waiting for her. Probably. If they weren't dead. Isabela was most likely still alive even, so long as she hadn't messed with the Qunari or pissed off any other group of violent people again. How likely was that? 

Her dog was the only one out of her group of friends smart enough to keep out of trouble, if she were being honest. Still enough of a reason to get out of here, she wouldn't want her dear dog be stuck with Anders forever. 

Hawke noticed Varric sitting at a desk as her eyes adjusted to the brightness. At the far side of the wall, next to the open window, the table and the chair were low, made for a dwarf. He was perched over something, a feather clutched in his hand which he led delicately over the paper.

"What are you writing?" She asked and almost thought he wouldn't be able to hear her pathetic excuse for a voice. It was raspy and worn, as if she had spent the whole night singing songs with drunk sailors. Which she had done before, Isabela and her crew could take a lot of alcohol.

Varric flinched in surprise and whipped his head around, almost knocking over his ink. He relaxed when she blinked lazily at him.

"A letter to your brother and the others. I thought - we weren't certain if you were coming back." He told her and signed his name at the bottom of the letter. The movement was familiar to her, having witnessed it a hundred times before. He laid down the feather next to the paper and got up from his chair. 

"Weisshaupt is cold this time of the year, huh?" She said it mostly to herself, but it made Varric frown at her. Hawke didn't elaborate, there was no need. He settled down on the bed next to her. Sitting. Not lying down beside her. Subtle. 

"How are you feeling?" He asked with a smile. His eyes were concerned. 

Hawke tried to shrug but her shoulders protested. "Tired." She chose to answer instead. 

"So go back to sleep. Or do you need a bedtime story?" Varric grinned at her. His stories were wonderful. Mostly. Maybe it was just his voice that she found soothing. 

But sleep was a really bad idea. Hawke had lost enough time already. Better figure out how to wake up. 

She sat up and gasped, pain bloomed from her stomach and chest, beating in unison with her elevated heart that tried to jump out of her chest. Sharp like a stab wound and at the same time numb and hot, like an infection. 

"What is-?" She pressed out and looked down at her chest. The shirt Hawke was wearing was too short on her torso, revealing white bandages around her stomach that started somewhere further up and ended at her hips, where someone had tucked a white cloth between her skin and the cotton of her trousers. Carefully she lifted her shirt up to her collarbone. 

The bandage was wrapped around most of her torso, covering her breasts, fresh and white, except that the wound that was hidden underneath had already seeped through. Not red, it was too dark for blood. It was a dark, shimmering green, almost black. 

Hawke struggled to gulp in a breath and hold herself upright. Her first instinct was to touch the bandages. It felt equal to sticking a needle into her skin. On second thought, she should have really expected that. 

Varric pursed his lips, his forehead in wrinkles and pulled her hand away. 

"We aren't sure. We were cleaning off the demons near a Rift when you stumbled out of it. The Rift - it held onto you. The Inquisitor thought it would be the best to close it." 

Hawke studied his face, her chest still heaving. Every breath pulled at her wound but at least calmed her heart. "I don't remember any of that." She sat up a little more comfortably, mindful of her aches. Varric moved the pillows shattered on the bed to the headboard for her to lean against. Hawke carefully sunk into them, holding her breath until she could relax. Not fully of course, since that would include surrendering her body and mind to this demon. 

Varric nodded. "I thought so. You were unconscious when we got to you." 

"How convenient." Hawke laughed. Her voice cracked halfway through making her cough. 

She hadn't even stopped, when Varric already put a mug of water against her mouth. Hawke took it from him gingerly, her muscles still sore and uncooperative. She drank the lukewarm water slowly, trying to gather her wits. Varric was looking at her weirdly. The stare he gave his manuscripts before he threw his feather into the air in frustration. Cute for an illusion. Wasn't his fault of course, he couldn't help being what he was. 

While biding her time, nursing her drink, a brilliant idea came to her. 

"That guy didn't have any smart ideas?" She asked after lowering the mug, spilling water over the blanket. 

"That guy?" Varric responded. These demons should be smarter than this really. She waved her hand around and made significant faces at Varric, who only seemed more puzzled. He took the mug away from her before she drenched herself completely. 

"The weird fade guy. The bald elf guy." 

"Solas?" He raised an eyebrow. 

She snapped her fingers. Her skin was so dry that it only barely made a sound.

"That guy." Solas, right. In her defence, she had also only met Solas a total of two times, both times they had not spoken much. After the first time talking to him, all Hawke could think was that Merrill would have hated him and that was that. She had never pretended to be particularly fair. 

But Solas was special. He knew more about the Fade than any other mage Varric or Hawke had ever met. Maybe she could get a hold of him here. Send a message back home that she was alright. 

Kind of alright, anyways. 

That she was alive at the very least. And ask them to stop closing the Rifts until she had made it out in one piece, thank you very much, signed Hawke. Maybe add a curl of her hair or a bloody handprint or something. 

Illusion-Varric had to crush her hopes of course. He sat the mug down on the bedside table, his mouth pressed in a thin line. 

"Solas left. After the battle with Corypheus.” Varric told her. "Who is dead, in case you were wondering. We won." 

"At Adamant?" She asked and cursed internally. So much for that plan. 

"No, that was much later. You missed quite a lot." 

Hawke hummed in response and looked up at the ceiling. She winked at her best friend, the ceiling for being there. Yes, she was definitely insane. 

"Tell me later." Hawke said and hoped with all her might that later wouldn't come. But if she was staying a little while she might as well use the opportunity. She felt sticky all over and not in the fun way, just dried sweat and grime that she felt the desperate desire to wash off. Not that it would have any influence on her real body, wherever that was. She threw the blanket off her and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, making Varric jump up from his seat. 

"What are you doing?" He barely shouted and put both of his hands on her shoulders to keep her seated. 

Completely unnecessarily since she wasn't going anywhere any time soon, moving even so little had already winded her and made her head swim. 

"The Bone Pit for a bath." She declared and took his hands off. It might take her another five minutes to stand up but that didn't mean she had to be coddled by an illusion. 

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" Varric stepped back and crossed his arms in front of his impressive chest. His shirt was wide open, revealing his glorious chest hair, just like she remembered. 

She had to laugh. Hawke couldn't help it, this whole situation was just too absurd. She clasped her hand on either side of Varric's face, examining it as it frowned and moved his head from side to side like a ragdoll's. 

"How did they get you to be so close to the real thing?" She asked and let her hands fall as his frown deepened. It wasn't fair of them to tempt her so, again and again. 

"What are you talking about Hawke?" Varric asked and his voice was just the same, as were the little wrinkles between his brows. 

"We both know what I am talking about." The laughter hurt her throat but it was nothing compared to the twist in her chest. "I'll admit you are really convincing." She was quite sure that if she stopped laughing she would cry and she really couldn't afford to show such a weakness to a demon. They would only use it to gut her. 

"This clearly isn't fooling me, just like the last so if I could wake up now that would be great." 

Varric's face twisted from confused to downright worried, a cute show and that she was getting sick of. He took her hands gently, so blighted gently and squeezed them tightly. His eyes locked with hers and she couldn't look away anymore. Caught in the spider’s web, about to be devoured. 

"Hawke." His voice broke and his grip grew tighter. "You're really here." 

"I know that's the problem. I need to get back." It was always so hard to argue with Varric, no matter which one.

"You are. This isn't the Fade." He said, willing her to understand what she had already fully gasped. Hawke wrenched her hands out of his. 

"Of course not." She said and waved her hands around as much as she was able with her chest stinging with every movement. "Because we all know all the good things happen in my life all the time." Like her father dying, her sister dying, her brother nearly dying and her mother dying. She was one lucky lady. 

Hawke scrambled up from the bed with much effort, her legs struggling all the way until she stood on them and walked over to the window. Just away from him, away from everything. 

"Well, I won't argue with you on that one." Varric admitted and she heard him get up from his seat, his footsteps coming closer. 

"Just stop." She said and shook her head. "I am not buying it. Stop." What were they trying to accomplish here? Usually they let her go as soon as she caught on. She needed to keep walking, she couldn't waste more time here. 

"Hawke, this is not a trick I am just-" He started and she just couldn't bear it anymore. Hawke whipped around, ignored her pain.

"What do you want from me? Do you want me to fight you? Kill you?" She asked, her voice rising. Her powers were bubbling just beneath the surface, waiting for her to use them. 

Varric lifted his hands but his eyes were hard, it didn't matter even if it was hard to bear.

"You are pulling a Bartrand on me then?" He asked and she couldn't keep herself from flinching. Using her memories against her wasn't new but she hadn't heard that one before. It was usually more her mother telling her over and over how it was her fault that Bethany had died. They were getting smarter.

"Of course. I should have seen that coming. You are going to mention your mother next right?" Hawke said, her voice rising in volume. 

He breathed in hard through his nose and took a step forward. "I am going to ignore that for both our sakes." 

She took a step back. "Don't come closer!" Hawke threatened, felt the fire in her hands wanting to break free. It would only take one thought. There was nothing she wanted to do less than fight a demon wearing Varric's face, but if it insisted she would make it a good one. After all she couldn't lose, losing here would mean so much more than a few broken bones and a bruised ego. 

"You need to calm down Hawke." He said and took another step. 

Fire emerged from her insides and lit her hands ablaze. She might not have a staff but that there was no need with the rage that boiled inside her. If she had to kill this demon to break this dream then so be it. Man, she was looking forward to having nightmares about it for the rest of her life. "No you need to let me leave!" She shouted and lifted her fists. Her whole body felt like a drawn bow, ready to shoot. 

One of the doors opened and Hawke threw her fire. It spilled over the wood of the half open door and onto the stone walls, whoever had tried to enter used the door as a shield. She let her gaze linger, trying to make out who the demons would trick her with now. Maybe Carver would stumble in, or Merrill. She hadn't seen either of them in quite a while, maybe that would make slaying them easier. 

Varric had used her distraction to grab her wrist despite the flames licking at her hands. She pulled at her arm and kicked him in the chest with her bare feet, making him stumble backwards and let go. Someone crashed into her back and hooked his arms under her own. 

"Champion, calm down." Something wearing Cullen's face said. Before Varric could recover she grabbed a handful of the fur from Cullen's coat, thrust out her hip and threw him over her shoulder. The wound on her chest protested painfully at the movement and stole her breath. She keeled over, holding one hand to her chest that did nothing to lessen the pain.

Then someone jumped on her back, slinging thick arms around her throat and wrestling her to the ground. She recognized them as Varric's as she clawed at them. "Let me go!" She screamed until Cullen grabbed her wrists and sat on her legs, keeping her from kicking at him. Hawke thrashed in their grasp, tried to press her chin on her chest to escape the sleeper hold but their grip was too strong.

"Don't make me do this Hawke." Varric begged in her ear as her view was getting blurry. She tried so summon some flames, ice anything. The only thing she was capable off was a slight layer of frost on Cullen's hands. 

Hawke gasped, trying to get air into her lungs, but she knew it was too late when the edges of her vision blackened. Her struggle weakened and she slowly slipped away. 

"What happened?"

"I have no idea." 

-

Hawke woke up. 

"- hasn't found anything yet, but her circle's library is quite large, something is bound to turn up sooner or later." Cullen spoke in soft tones, barely audible. 

A sigh from Varric. "Anything from Chuckles?" He asked.

"Nothing, but Leliana's spies are keeping an eye out. She also contacted Morrigan. She might have another idea we haven't though of yet." 

She glared at the ceiling, it still refused to cave in and kill her no matter how hard she stared at it. Her throat hurt when she tired to swallow and her whole body was tender. 

"Are you going to attack me again?" Varric said suddenly directed at her and Hawke turned her head towards the sound of his voice. 

He sat further away this time, close to the wall with Bianca resting on his lap like a faithful dog. Varric didn't look at her, occupied with oiling his crossbow with what seemed to be the same dirty old rag that he had used in Kirkwall. One of his hands was bandaged, the one he had grabbed her with and she felt guilt at its sight. On the other side of the room Hawke noticed Cullen, leaning against Varric's desk, a watchful eye over the whole room. They were just far enough apart that she would be unable to strike them both with a single attack.

This was wrong. Her actions here never had consequences here besides waking up, Hawke didn't stick around to be punished by whatever imitations wanted to linger. 

"Didn't do me much good, did it?" She croaked out. Her voice sounded even worse than before their little brawl. Hawke tried to muster up some strength to get up and do anything, run maybe or fight and couldn't. They hadn't cuffed her hands or her feet, which was surprisingly stupid of them. Hawke could attack them whenever she wished. It would most likely turn out to be just as fruitless as the first time but it might be cathartic. It didn't matter either way, she was stuck here, wherever this was. 

Maybe it's wasn't the Fade. Maybe it was some sort of Purgatory before she ascended to the Maker or some other bullshit she had never believed in. 

Varric finished his polishing job without hurry, carefully going over every spot and into every nook. He set Bianca down against the wall when he had finished. One of his more subtle intimidation tactics, the one he had used on Donnic after him and Aveline had gotten together. Aveline had nearly decked him that night when she noticed what he had been doing. 

He folded his hands under his chin and braced his elbows on his knees, now completely focused on her, trying to figure her out. 

Hawke didn't know what to think. Her head was a mess of jumbled thoughts all racing against each other and none of them made any sense together. Where was her body weight in wine when she needed it? 

She sat up gingerly, making both men flinch and reach for their weapons. Her lips pulled themselves into a grin as she lifted her hands in surrender. 

"Not exactly a harmless gesture from a mage." Cullen said, his hand white knuckled around the hilt of his sword. Hawke let her hands fall into her lap and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. 

"You think every gesture from a mage is dangerous. Would you rather I flash my breasts at you?" She asked and snorted when colour rose in his cheeks. This was the same person that had made a stranger part of an official investigation because he didn't dare step a foot into a whorehouse. Or at least a really good forgery of him. Her head was starting to hurt. 

There was still the mug of water on the bedside table and she debated if reaching for it was worth the pain. Considering how dry and tight her throat felt however she just grit her teeth and ignored every discomfort. Hawke sipped the water slowly, under the ever watchful gaze of her two guardians. They shared a glance as she drank and realized her mistake.  
The taste was what threw her off, and she was able to excuse that with the general taste that she had had in her mouth until her vision began to swim again. It had been some sort of test of her sanity and she had failed it. 

"Did you drug me?" She slurred and tipped sideways off the bed, landing hard on the floor, the contents of the cup spilling over the floor. Whatever they had given her hadn't even let her feel the impact. "Forget wine, I want this shit.” Hawke mumbled into the stone and felt large hands hoist her back onto the bed. 

-

Her fingertips are green. Hawke stares at her hands, dumbfounded. Her nails are covered in green, coating them like the paint Merrill uses on her own. It shimmers, catching her eye, like the inside of a clam. 

"I never wanted this!" Merrill sobs behind her. Hawke can feel her presence at her back, remembers the scene so vividly she doesn't need to turn around and see Merrill clutching her Keeper's corpse to her chest, straining her clothes in blood. 

The colour creeps to her fingertips, slowly turning them from dark brown green. Tiny tendrils weaving around the digits of her fingers, clawing into her skin.

Green. Green. Green.

It's always green. 

Fenris rips out Varania's heart, the blood sprays across his face but he only holds it out to Hawke like a gift, while his sister drops to the floor. A cat bringing its master a dead bird. 

A mabari is whining in the distance, crying out to her, but she can't do anything other than stare at her hands. Her body is frozen as the green taint reaches her palms and travels down her arms through her veins, corrupting her from the inside. 

"I have the relic, and I am gone." Isabela shouts against the wind. She is too far away to see her clearly, disappearing behind a storm front brewing at the horizon. 

It crawls up her feet, slinging around her ankles and up her legs, thick veins chaining her to the emerald floor beneath her. 

"There can be no peace." Anders say, standing right in front of her and his eyes are glowing blue. "There can be no peace." He repeats and sounds nothing like himself.

She can't move her body, crystallized, fully consumed. She can't breathe, her lungs are stone. An abomination. Sharp claws of green stone shaping around her hands. 

Aveline has her back turned, showing her Wesley's shield. It's rusted with age, a gaping gash through its middle, coated with blood that's not her own. She doesn't acknowledge Hawke at all. 

She tries to scream but the colour has already reached her face, crawled into her mouth and poisoned her tongue. 

This is your fault. This is your fault. Bethany, wake up. The battle is over. 

The battle is over. 

We are fine.

Wake up, Hawke. 

In war, victory. 

Alistair and Carver blend into each other to the point where she can't tell where on of them begins and the other stops. They are a twisted creature with two heads, each horribly disfigured, sewn together from spare parts just like mother. No limb belongs in the place it's been given. 

"In war, victory." The chant, over and over, overlapping with Anders who only increases in volume until they are a deafening chorus. 

An army marches through them. A wave of soldiers, wearing the Starkhaven crest, marching on and on and pulling everyone with them until only Hawke is left. A single statue lost in a green sea of dirt and rocks. Alone. An insect, caught in green ember. 

"Varric Tethras." He says and draws a red Bianca from his back, completely covered in red lyrium. He is a mirror of herself. Only moving, breathing, and red. The lyrium around him is angry, its energy pulsing in unison with her own heartbeat that she can no longer feel. 

He says, "At your service." And shoots her in the chest. 

She cracks, like a mirror and scatters into a million shards.

Hawke woke up.

She shot up from the bed, her chest heaving, as the air would not enter her lungs fast enough. The imprint from her dream made her breath hitch and tears spill over before she could control them. Her nose closed up and a lump formed in her throat, making it even harder to catch her breath. A thin layer of sweat covered her skin, making the freezing room even more unbearable. 

A nightmare. 

Hawke drew her legs up to her chest, only now feeling the sting from her wound and sobbed into her knees, letting the blanket soak up her tears. Her pulse was rushing through her veins, loud enough that Hawke could hear it roaring in her ears. She pressed her mouth in a thin line, keeping in another hitch and slowly breathed in through her stuffed up nose. Her body was shaking, and it had nothing to do with the cold. 

She couldn't bear the wall around her, the dark stone seemed to grow closer, suffocating her. Time was lost to her, Hawke had no idea how long she had been asleep. That perhaps was most terrifying of all. 

In a heartbeat, she was out of the bed and grabbed a robe from where laid draped over a nearby chair. The floor against her feet was ice, so cold it burned her soles and she couldn't muster enough energy to care. Without even closing the robe over her half naked body Hawke marched over to the door that led to the battlements and stepped outside. 

The cold that hit was worse than inside, but the relief that the open sky brought was bigger than any discomfort. 

For several seconds Hawke just stood there, shivering and took in the night air. The sky above her was free of clouds, showing off a half moon and all the stars she had missed so much in Kirkwall. A brimming carpet of white glowing spots in the sky, which slowly shifted from dark blue to dawn. No green here at all. 

The realization that she had left the room without waking came slowly. There hadn't been an invisible wall holding her back or a black abyss waiting to swallow her whole as she had previously experienced it while breaking a dream in the Fade. Another doubt that she could add to the growing pile. 

With morning approaching, it didn't seem too unreasonable to take a stroll. There was the distant clanking of armour and all the voices of merchants setting up their wares for the day to come. Hawke tied up the robe, tucked it close to her neck and walked. Her feet were numb after a few steps but it helped to distract her from the images still branded in her mind. The cold grounded her, reassured her that she wasn't going to turn to all new improved and green version of Meredith any time soon. Hawke almost laughed at herself for that particular thought, ground herself in another dream. Just what she needed. 

She was so tired of being stuck. There was a growing uncertainty brewing in her gut that she didn't dare to pay any attention to. Believe nothing but yourself, she repeated in her head like a mantra. The conversation with Merrill felt like a thousand years ago, after their trip to the Fade. That seemed to be the dominant trend in her life now. 

Her body still felt the aftershocks of her nightmare and her fingertips felt numb, though she couldn't tell if it was the cold or something else. An unease sat deep in her stomach like a hangover, but without all the fun of having been drunk. At least all that lessened the itching of her wound. Hawke put one hand between her breast, mindful of her bandages underneath, right over the spot where the dream Varric - or should she say the other dream Varric? Maybe she should start numbering them - had shot her. 

He had shot her straight in the chest and she had woken up. 

She had woken up.

Hawke got stuck on that revelation. She had died in the dream and had woken up. 

It was an old folktale that had never held any truth for her. Dying in the Fade made you Tranquil, at least that was what Keeper Marethani had told her. Maybe it was different, being bodily in the Fade and not just visiting it in a dream? Or maybe someone other than yourself had to actively kill you to cut of your connection to the Fade? A few too many variables than she was comfortable with. What wouldn't she give to have Feynriel here, a dreamer mage sure would be useful right about now. 

Hawke looked over the edge of the battlements, the drop was high but straight into water. The summer had melted most of the ice covering the lake around the castle. It wouldn't be too unlikely for Hawke to survive the drop. With the gaining daylight more and more people came out of their holes eager to start their work, the two guards assuming their stations on the battlements surely would put up a fuss if she were to climb the walls. 

There was one place she would be unbothered, however. 

Walking past the many occupants of Skyhold wasn't as difficult as she had imagined, most people only recognized her in her signature armour, which she hadn't seen since she had woken up. Another trick to make her feel vulnerable, literally unshielded against whatever the demons threw at her.

She remembered the stairs down to the dungeons well. It was the place she had snuck in from, back then, where Varric had told her nobody would notice her. A giant hole in the castle wall that faced a massive cliff would have been impossible for people who weren't mages or people that didn't have inside help. Not to say that it had been a cakewalk either, it had involved a lot more rope and swearing and a lot less dignity than one might imagine. 

There was a sole guardswoman, asleep in a chair, 'guarding' the empty dungeon. Adaar liked to take full advantage of her resources apparently, setting prisoners to work rather than letting them rot away. 

Hawke slipped past the woman, trying to avoid the rubble beneath her feet and quickly made her way to the door on the end of the dungeon to access said hole. 

It was amazing that nobody thought about fixing it at some point, the hole was immense; huge, as if a giant had thrown a mountain into the side of the castle. It has demolished most of the wall and the floor, leaving only a small area to walk on. The wind here was worse than on the battlements, throwing her hair around her face. 

She approached the edge carefully, mindful of the unsteady ground and finally peeked over. 

It was higher than she remembered. Hawke was sure it hadn't been quite as high when she had used it as a front entrance. There was no end in sight, any possible ground was clouded by heavy mist that started a couple of feet down from her. It almost made them look like a huge pile of cotton, but Hawke could only cringe at the thought of hitting the ground from such a height. The sounds of bones breaking was a familiar one and accompanied by the wet slap of a human body splattering onto hard stone was so very easy to imagine in the same breath. 

There was nothing stopping her now. No people, no obligations, no reality.

Nothing. 

With her next step, her toes were over the edge. She could feel the wind gushing up her coat and making her shiver. 

One more step and she was free. 

Or just dead. 

That was the catch. Hawke didn't know, and there was only one way to know for sure. 

Would she wake up?

Or would it might just end, maybe she would wake up Tranquil but still in the Fade, wouldn't that be just hilarious.

Either way it was better than being stuck here. 

Or was it? Death had never held much appeal to her, even when she had considered it during the worst times. Hawke did enjoy living quite a lot more than anything else. Tranquillity certainly wasn't something she was looking forward to, the mere concept had always terrified her.

Then there was the distinct possibility that this was in fact reality and not just another trick constructed by a demon. There had been plenty of signs that had planted doubt in her. If this was reality and she took that one last step then - well, at the very least she would join Bethany and her parents. 

Too many things just didn't add up the way she wanted them too. 

"This is bad.” she said to no one but herself, barely audible even to her own ears over the roaring wind. 

She wasn't sure anymore and if she wasn't sure then she was fucked. Believe nothing but yourself, what a joke. There was nothing to believe, not in herself anyway. 

"Hawke?" She startled badly enough that she stumbled. The rubble underneath shifted with her and Hawke tried to regain her balance to avoid falling to her uncertain faith but certain death. One of her feet slipped over the edge, and Varric was at her side instantly, one arm around her waist, pulling her away from the chasm. Her feet got caught on some stone, tangled up in the robe and then she fell, taking Varric down with her. They hit safety of the dungeon floor hard, the soft coat did nothing to muffle the fall. The shock ran through her whole body and stole the breath straight out of her lungs. They laid there on the ground, breathless and for a second she was somewhere else.

Her groaning on the polished stone floor of the Keep, the Arishok panting above her. 

Varric and Hawke on the thin mattress in the Hanged Man, laughing and naked.

Then she was back at the start. Cold stones digging into her spine and the icy wind reminding her of where she was. Trapped in the Fade or maybe not. She was so damned tired of it all and yet was unable to stop. 

"What did you think you were doing here?" Varric scrambled up from the floor, furious and his brows knitted together. She had rarely seen that glance directed at her, other than maybe that one time Hawke had puked in Varric's bed. To be fair though, who would ever let such an incredibly drunk person anywhere near their belongings? 

"Just enjoying the view.” said Hawke, there was a hysteric laugh bubbling somewhere in her belly that slowly surfaced. She could feel Varric's glance on her and at least he wouldn't be wrong if he thought she was crazy now, a small comfort. "And this time I don't mean your chest hair." She smacked her flat hand against Varric's exposed skin, hard enough to make a sound. He shook his head and sighed. 

"Maker give me strength.” said Varric and rubbed one hand over his face. "Never do that again." 

"And ruin the element of surprise?" She laughed. 

He shook his head and took a deep breath as to calm himself down. She watched his chest rise and fall, saw the wrinkles that were deepening on his face and the slump of his shoulders and all at once all laughter was gone. There was a current Hawke kept swimming against because that was what her mind told her to do but she was just so tired of it all. Tired of fighting Varric and herself. 

"I might indulge you a little while longer." Hawke admitted quietly and Varric settled his weary gaze upon her. He let out a long breath.

"I would appreciate that." She had been afraid he would say that but what was one more nail in her coffin?

If it truly was a dream, at least it was a pleasant one. 

"Sorry about the fire and threatening to kill you bit." Hawke said and let him help her to her feet. His still bandaged hand he kept at his side. 

"What's a little bloodshed between friends?" He replied, with forced humour. 

"Don't say it too loud, Fenris might actually rip out my heart this time." 

-

It took Varric the rest of the week to decide to drag her to a card game with the others. Hawke wasn't sure if it was a desperate attempt of him to pretend everything was normal of if it was just a welcome distraction. Either way she found herself in midst of the Inquisition's greatest heroes. Those that hadn't already found anything better to do, now that the big bad evil was defeated anyway. 

The tavern was full this time of the night, but the barkeep still had an empty table for them. The Iron Bull and his lieutenant, whose name Hawke couldn't remember, and Dalish, whose name she actually did remember were already sitting there, filled mugs in front of them when Varric and she joined them.  
Hawke felt a little uneasy sitting among them like she was part of the group and it did little but make her yearn for times past. Seeing Varric joke around with the Iron Bull and his chargers and ordering a new round for them all left a bad aftertaste in her mouth. 

Dorian and Adaar had come shortly after, engaged in a deep conversation until they reached the table. The Inquisitor herself had only stayed shortly as her and Blackwall apparently had other plans but Josephine was gracious enough to take their place tonight. Sera came last, not to actually play but to distract people from the game with shitty puns- that Hawke certainly wasn't filing away for future use- and drinking some ale in company. 

She sat at one corner of the table, Dorian who had squeezed between her and Varric with Dalish opposite her, although already too drunk to actually focus on what was happening. What little remaining attention she was capable of she spent on showing card tricks to Sera midway through their second round.

It was hard for Hawke to focus on anything other than the twinge in her chest and stomach and the all consuming dread that this was only the calm before the storm. All of this happy camaraderie and warmth was might just fade away just like before. It was that tiny voice in the back of her head that kept telling her that this was indeed the reality she had been wanting to return for that wouldn't leave her alone since her adventures in attempted suicide. Hawke was quite literally stuck, not knowing what to do. But then, when did she ever knew what to do? 

Dorian shifted next to her, shuffling closer to her in what she supposed was meant to be inconspicuous manner. It was rather hard for someone like Dorian to be any kind of subtle. 

"I know how you feel." Dorian whispered to her when he had closed a bit of distance between them, quietly enough that she wasn't entirely sure she had actually heard him. 

Hawke glanced at the others at the table, Bull and Krem- that was his name, she would have to write that down somewhere- were arguing about something to do with war hammers, while Dalish and Sera had now started singing along to the bard's newest song. Varric was in a staring contest with Josephine, the only two that were still actually playing the game in all seriousness. 

Hawke shuffled her cards in her hand. A truly shitty hand, but she had been bluffing all night. All week, really. Did it count if all the players knew you were bluffing? Then again the pale reflections of the people here that some demon had conjured up might not even have a clue they weren't real, or the people didn't have any idea that Hawke didn't think they were real. It was better not too think too much about that whole dilemma really though she was going to have a headache either way.

"Really? Fortune hasn't been with either of us tonight then." She replied playfully. Hawke hadn't known Dorian well enough to estimate what he might mean. 

They hadn't spoken more than a handful of words before her trip to the Fade and those had been focused on magic practises. With all the dead that surrounded her, necromancy had seemed like the next logical step. Dorian was charming and full of himself, qualities she could admire usually but Hawke had chosen to dislike him at least a little bit, if only for Fenris' sake. She was sure had Dorian lived in Kirkwall when her mother had still been alive, she would have tried to wed Hawke off to him. Not regarding the fact that Dorian was about as interested in her lady bits as she was in the cheesy moustache. 

Dorian didn't look at her while he continued talking. 

"My father tried to alter my mind using blood magic." Hawke tried not to react, but her hands tightened on her cards involuntarily. 

She threw a couple of coins into the middle at her turn, but the others were still too preoccupied with each other to pay them any mind. 

"I got away before he could do any harm but for a long time after I wasn't sure if I was thinking my own thoughts." 

Hawke felt the breath catch in her throat and her chest grew tight. It was a trick. It had to be a trick, a lie. She knew next to nothing about Dorian, whatever he was saying could just as well be made up as it could be the truth. If this trend was going to continue she would start pulling her hair out in frustration. 

"It helps. Being around people you trust." He said and folded. Her gaze landed on Varric on its own. People she trusted, huh? In her head Merrill was telling her to trust nothing but herself. Everything is a trick or a trap. But what if it wasn't? 

Hawke desperately wanted a drink right now. 

She discarded two of her cards and drew new ones. They were worn and soft, a little sticky from ale and beer and food. They felt real as she sorted them in her hand. The wound on her torso still throbbed with every breath and her back and ass were sore from sitting on the uncomfortable chair for so long. The air in the tavern was stuffy and a mixture of smells unique to itself, almost like the Hanged Man, only that it less like vomit and piss. People somewhere to her side where laughing, Varric cursed as Josephine won the round and gathered her win towards her growing pile. 

A lot of details for a demon to create.

"I will consider that. Thank you." She said finally. 

Dorian smiled beneath his moustache. "Not a problem."

-

It took her longer than Hawke wanted to admit to seek out Varric's room. She really didn't have an excuse anymore with her health rapidly improving, other than her own mind of course. Hawke stared at his closed door for a long time, knowing Varric would be out with the ghost kid doing something or other and debated whether or not to go in. It wasn't like she didn't have permission or that the door was locked. In their years of friendship Varric had learned that closed doors posed more of a challenge for Hawke than anything else and only made her more curious. He had also learned not to leave compromising items out in the open anymore. 

Something else was holding her back from just walking in and treading into the space like her own. Mostly it was the looming doom she could feel on her back, following her around ever since she had decided to cautiously trust this place. What if she went back into this room and everything unravelled again? If it was just a dream and she had been fooled by a demon? If Hawke truly was doomed? 

Well, she wasn't going to find out just standing around staring at this, admittedly very finely crafted, door. With steel in her spine and her head held high, she opened the door and stepped through. 

Nothing happened. 

Of course. 

She let the door fall closed behind her and walked slowly round the room, let her fingers ghost across the surfaces of the furniture. 

It looked different than she remembered, but then again many things did. The fireplace was in the same place, but instead of carpet there was a pelt in front of it, the bed linen and a different shade of red, the window had heavy curtains in front of it that were waving in the midday breeze. What most caught Hawke's attention were the books lining the walls in ceiling high bookshelves. In the demon's dreams she had never been able to focus on the titles, much less read them unlike now. 

She walked along the shelves, skimming over the titles, some familiar to her, most not. She avoided the bed like a plague on her stroll around and stopped at Varric's desk. It was similar to the one he had let bring to her own room, low and with more ornamentations than Hawke deemed necessary. A bunch of papers were scattered around an empty glass, ink and pens. 

Just when she had been about to leave with her curiosity sated, she noticed her name written in one of the letters. It was impossible not to read them after that, especially when Varric's neat script made it so easy. Hawke had only ever cared once to put any kind of effort into her handwriting and that had been when she had been teaching Fenris how to read. Varric turned every letter and contract into a piece of art. 

Hawke made the effort to lower herself slowly onto Varric's chair and gathered the letters closer to her. There was nothing else for her to do either way, she might as well be comfortable as she snooped around.

_'Hawke_

If nothing else the Winter Palace in Halamshiral is very pretty. That's about the only positive thing to say about that blighted place. I though being this far away from the Carta would safe me from all this political bullshit. You would have hated it, no good food anywhere and everyone dressed up and dancing. I was expecting Choir Boy to show up at any corner, which would have rounded up that shit experience. The occasional bloodshed in between actually made the night better' 

The letter stopped without the sentence being finished and had Hawke frowning at the page. She remembered talk about some party or other at Halamshiral but it had been nothing more but rumours that the Inquisition would be actually able to attend before Adamant. Varric must have written these after. 

_'Hawke,_

The Arbor Wilds are just as dreadful as any other forest, only that this one is also home to immortal and pissed of elf warriors. Immortal! Imagine it because I've been fighting hard to believe it. Temples and wells and gods really make me miss the good old day where it was just shoot the bad guy in the'

'Hawke,

I fell for a liar again. One would think I would recognize one by now when I see them. I didn't. The Inquisitor is taking this harder than all of us and I am already ready to maim some. This is like Anders all over again. At least this time less people died' 

'Hawke,

I got word from our favourite law enforcers. Aveline is expecting, can you believe it? Donnic must be going nuts, but I've only had Aveline's letters to inform me, I could literally feel her annoying through her written word. I am thinking a visit to good old Kirkwall might be necessary soon. Don't worry, I already have a plan to smuggle you in without the danger of you getting executed on the spot' 

More and more half finished letters than she could bring herself to read. Some pages only had her name written on them and nothing else. Others were longer, telling detailed tales of the adventures Varric had been involved in. There was only a single one that seemed to be complete. 

_'Hawke_

We won. 

Varric' 

"Anything interesting?" Hawke's head snapped up and she saw Varric standing in his own doorway, grinning at her with his arms crossed over his chest. She gaped for several seconds before clamping her mouth shut again. 

"What are these?" She asked and lifted the pile she had been going through. There were more she hadn't even gotten to yet. Varric scratched the back of his head and walked towards his desk. He kept his eyes on the letters instead of looking at her. 

"I was trying to figure out what I had told about already and what not. It’s been a few hectic months." He cleared his throat and took the letters out of her hands to place them back on his desk, smoothing them out from where her fingers had crinkled them. 

"Oh.", she finally settled on. "I am afraid I don't have that much too tell. Guess what's past the point in the Fade where we parted? It's more Fade, and everything is green. Terrible interior design choices really." 

Varric's hand twitched on the table. It was as much as a full body wince from him. "Right."

She didn't dare to move and was increasingly aware of her own heart, beating hard enough to jump out of her chest any moment. "Too early for jokes?" 

Varric closed his eyes and shook his head just the tiniest bit, it was almost hard to say that he had moved at all. He let out a long breath before he looked at her finally and rounded the desk until he stood next to the chair she was sitting in. 

"Alright, listen Hawke. I know you don't want to hear it but I need to say this.” Varric grabbed the armrests of the chair and turned her around to him without breaking a sweat. He trapped her in the seat she was desperately trying to sink into. Hawke knew this intensity in his eyes and the weight in his voice and she wasn't sure if she could stand it. Not now.

"You are not allowed to scare me like this again. The months that I thought you were dead were the worst of my life and I've had some pretty bad ones before. You were there for most of them." The expedition, Bartrand, leaving Kirkwall, she knew exactly what he was talking about. Hawke had never realized how much she depended on him until she had been on the run on her own. It had felt like a severed limb. 

This was just how it started. This was how it always started before it washed away again. Hawke squeezed her eyes shut, maybe she could just disappear if she just didn't see him. If he said it now then this was a dream and she had just been fooling herself. But worst of all she would believe him. Because this was Varric. Her Varric who understood her without words and who had always been there for her. Her best friend, how could she not trust him? 

He took a shuddering breath and held his chin up. "I love you, alright?", Varric stumbled a little over the words and paused. His eyes shifted back and forth until they focused back on her own. An impossible intensity in them, that Hawke found hard to bear. "That isn’t going to change.", another pause, another deep breath. His arms on each of her sides were quivering slightly. "I need you to be safe and preferably alive." He said took a step back to give her room. 

Maker she loved and hated him. 

"Why did you have to say that?" She whispered, took his face in her hands and leaned her forehead against his. His hands settled on her upper arms uncertainly. 

"I am not okay." Hawke admitted and once she started she couldn't stop. "I can't wake up. I don't know what is real." She swallowed down the lump in her throat. "And I am not sure if I even want to anymore." An uneven breath left her lungs and she clung to him somewhat desperately. Pathetic wasn't she? Somewhere a demon was most likely laughing at her. 

"Hawke." Varric clasped her elbows gently and leaned back against her, letting her feel his weight. 

"I don't trust myself anymore that's the problem. I trust you and I shouldn't because what if I’m wrong? Then I'll never see you again." Hawke said and never felt more helpless. One of his large hand brushed her hair out of her face and cupped her jaw. His hands were covered in little scars and calluses, shaped by battle. Hawke could do little else but lean into it and savour this little pleasure she allowed herself.

"Listen to me, Hawke. You are the strongest person I know. If anyone can beat this, it's you.” he told her with conviction. "Besides we faced down worse things than this, what could possibly go wrong?" 

She laughed despite herself at her own words echoed back at her and he smiled sadly and so blighted fond. 

"Stealing my lines now, Varric?" Hawke asked.

"You always were my greatest inspiration." Her lips pulled themselves into a smile and she ducked her head. These words were a little too familiar.

"Sorry." Varric said again but Hawke shook her head. 

"Don't apologize if you mean it," she said and looked at him. She would just have to get used to hearing him again. 

"I do." Varric said and Hawke believed him. 

She nodded, maybe more to herself than to him and grabbed onto his hands. "Okay." Hawke said. 

-

Hawke really liked this part of Skyhold. Sure, the giant hole, the threat of doom, and her own recent suicidal thoughts were kind of a downer, but the view was quite nice. Terrifying, but nice. Also empty, as none of the Skyhold's occupants found their way down here often. That was the best part and after the last few weeks she had had, Hawke could use some quiet time. 

She closed her eyes and let the wind blow her hair around. There was also one other reason she had come down here. 

Hawke lifted her hands and pointed them at the iron bars of the half way buried prison cell. 

Lightening had been one of her favourite elements to master. Not the easiest or the strongest, but something about the raw power fascinated her. The winter storms in Kirkwall had inspired her to learn it. After one whole night that her whole family had spend awake and just waited for the next bolt to strike Gamlen's tiny hovel and burn them all to crisps. The next day, when she and Carver had left for work, they had seen the massive damage the lightening had blasted into the carved rock. Despite the terror, Hawke had always been fond of disasters. 

That's why she was friends with so many. 

The electricity crackled between her fingers, jumping from one hand to the other and back and made the hair on her arms stand up. Carver had complained for week that she smelled weird while she had been trying to master it. Then again, Carver had complained about everything during that time. 

Hawke did miss him sometimes. 

With a flick of her wrist, the lightening from her hands hit the metal of the bars, surging through it and running itself harmlessly into the ground. 

Fire was easier. It was the very first thing her father had taught her. Perhaps not the best first lesson when you were an insufferable older sister hell bent on tormenting your younger siblings, but she had to have gotten her questionable common sense from somewhere. The fire she summoned engulfed her hands in an instant. It never felt hot or burned her own skin, but it still warmed her insides. Hawke always wondered if that was how dragons felt all the time. Even though she was Ferelden-born, Hawke had never enjoyed the cold. Kirkwall heat had always been so much more appealing, even the humid summers that had made it hard to breathe were better than shivering in Fereldan winter. 

Maybe it was the lingering madness of the Fade, but the flames seemed brighter than usual which was surprising, as Hawke didn't even have her staff back. She should really ask Varric about that. Surely he had hidden it somewhere to keep her out of trouble. As if she couldn't find trouble without it. Really, if anything it was more dangerous for her to be without it. Hawke really needed to remember that argument for later. Varric tended to twist her words if she went in unprepared.

Hawke felt a presence behind her before she heard the rustling of rubble. She whipped around and threw the fire at an unimpressed Flemeth who avoided the attack with a single step to the side.

"You," Hawke said all so eloquently. 

"Is that how you greet your saviour? I am disappointed." Flemeth inclined her head in greeting.

"You startled me, and you being my saviour? That was a long time ago." Hawke wished she had put on some armour before coming here. 

"Not as long as you think, or do you think you made it out of the Fade by your own strength?" Flemeth laughed. "I think not." 

Hawke squinted at the old witch. "Am I to believe you saved me out of the kindness in your heart without something in return now?" She asked and crossed her arms. 

"Nothing quite so generous I assure you." Flemeth waved one hand. "But you did leap when I told you to." 

Hawke thought back to their last encounter on Sundermount. Back then a day with that many corpses had been a bad day, now that was a regular Tuesday. 

"I didn't as much leap as plummet, honestly." She admitted. 

Flemeth threw her head back, laughing. It was still the same condescending ugly thing it had been last time. "Nonetheless you fulfilled your purpose. Your debt is finally repaid." 

"It wasn't before?" She asked. "I thought we had an agreement." 

Flemeth clicked her tongue. "Did you think one tiny amulet was equal to four lives saved? No, you had to be the one to stay behind." 

"What about Alistair?" 

"I needed him somewhere else, more you need not know." 

The cold wind from the cliffs made Hawke shiver in her thin clothes, making her miss her armour. She kicked a bit of rubble down the hole and watched it fall. Before she dwelled on it too long, Hawke raised her chin again. 

"Why not leave me there then? Was it my charm?" 

Again Flemeth chuckled. "That is for me to know child. Why not simply be grateful?" The witch turned her back to Hawke and walked along the edge of the hole. "Or would you rather I return you?" 

Green rocks. Green dirt and green monsters trying to eat her. Fenris ripping out his sisters heart, Isabela abandoning her, Merrill crying, Varric killing her himself - Better not to dwell on that. 

"Oh, I don't know. The Fade had demons, giant spiders and walking miles through mud without an end. It's all my favourite things. “Hawke said, nonchalant and watched Flemeth's back. After a beat she said, "Though, in all seriousness, I'd rather stay here." She suppressed a tremble from the cold. Definitely from the cold, and not the dread of waking up to green sand and stones. An endless sea of despair and nothing but her own insecurities and desires and demons as company. 

"I thought so,” Flemeth gave her an all knowing smile, a truly strange sight. It let Hawke understand Merrill's need to bow in front of this woman. "Farewell then, Champion. I might call upon you once again, when it is time." 

Hawke could feel the dread and panic she was long familiar with settle once again in her mind. "Can't wait." She deadpanned. 

Flemeth laughed and started to glow. Her form shifted and shined brighter, enough that Hawke had to shield her eyes. Her laugh echoed off the walls until the light ebbed away to reveal a bird, flying in the spot where Flemeth had stood. A hawk with a red feather coat. It cocked its head, its golden eyes staring at her – amused, if Hawke were to guess. 

"Seriously?" She asked and the bird only screeched once before it flew off through the hole and disappeared into the mist, leaving Hawke alone and a lot more confused then before. 

-

Bianca was heavier, Hawke noticed when she took the crossbow from Varric. Hawke had never quite gotten the hang of archery with a bow. The whole thing required a level of dedication, patience and practise she had never been willing to invest. Not to mention that it had seemed redundant, given the fact that she could set someone aflame with a thought and a flick of her wrist. Nonetheless, she had wielded Bianca before and had been an average shot with her. Bianca made it easy. 

"She’s gained weight." She told Varric and heaved her onto eyelevel, pressing her handle tightly into her shoulder, peering off to the distant mountains. It was always the battlements for her. One would think a castle this big would have other places to hang out. The wind was tugging at her hair, but had no chance against the lovely braid Cole had tied them into earlier this morning. He was a nice kid. Merrill and him would get alone swimmingly should they ever met.

"She got a couple of upgrades. She doesn't pull to the left anymore.” said Varric just as Hawke has to readjust her grip on the crossbow. 

"Good to know." There was a flock of birds breaking off the ground and flying up. Hawke wondered if she was lucky enough and one of them would be Flemeth. 

She followed one of them, taking her time to aim. It had been a while since she had shot anything besides magic. The short lesson Varric had given her still fresh in her memory, all those years ago on a boring summer afternoon when they had wasted time shooting flowerpots from Hawke's wealthy neighbour's balconies and her favourite dwarf telling her to fire in between breaths. 

Hawke took a breath, focused on the bird flying carelessly, not knowing its fate. She held her breath.  
Shot. 

And missed.

The bird continued to fly. 

"Too bad, next try." Varric said but Hawke shook her head and handed Bianca back over, as careful as one might handle a baby. 

"I think I’m good, thanks.” Hawke smiled at the sky. "Besides I just couldn't make you look bad at your own game. 

“That might force me to show off my magic skills," Varric snorted.

"Wouldn't want that. I am in the mood for some ale, how about it?" She suggested and already made her way towards the well walked stairs. At this rate, Hawke would soon be able to navigate Skyhold blindly. Now that was an interesting idea, surely she would be able to make herself a blindfold of some sort. 

"It's not even noon so, sure." Varric had no trouble catching up to her. 

"Champion?" Cullen's voice made her stop in her tracks. 

"What can I do for you, Kni- Commander?" She asked and Varric stood awkwardly between them. Cullen looked incredibly uncomfortable when he came to a halt a few feet in front of her, tired also. There were thick rings under his eyes that spoke of exhaustion far deeper than merely the lack of sleep and in another time she would have cared. Hawke at least liked to believe she might have. 

"We did not get the chance to talk-" Cullen cut himself off. 

"Before I nearly kicked the bucket?” provided Hawke chipper. "Or after I tried to burn your eyebrows off?" Varric snorted again.

"Yes, that." He cleared his throat and collected himself.

"I'll leave you to it." Varric said and went past her down the stairs. 

"There better be a drink waiting for me!” she shouted after him.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and turned to face Cullen. Hawke had nothing to say to the man before her. She had thought about confronting Cullen a few times on her first stay at Skyhold, but back then Hawke had had bigger things to worry about than a soiled friendship- if one could have even called it that. 

"I wanted to apologize.” said Cullen finally. He held his head high. "When we met in Kirkwall, I wasn't in the best place." He raked a hand through his hair. "Not to excuse my behaviour." 

"Oh no, I understand. Mages aren't people like you and you." She echoed. His words had stung her so deeply once. Hawke had done with them exactly what she always had done with insults and used them as a weapon. Hag, demon, witch, bitch. They were endless and she collected them like jewellery to wear around her neck. If you prided yourself with something, no one could use it against you. 

Cullen at least had the decency to look ashamed. "I was stupid." He shook his head to himself. "After what happened in the Ferelden Circle -"

Hawke just lifted her hand. "Whatever. Water under a bridge and all that." She told him and focused on the mountains in the distance. It was a lot more pleasant to focus on that. 

Not the memory of a younger Cullen who had been barely more than a ghost himself, always so pale despite the burning sunshine in Kirkwall. He had never slept much and every word she had exchanged with him had sounded dead and hollow. The first thing she had felt towards him had been pity and that had later turned into sympathy. What had happened in the Ferelden Circle had been no secret, at least not if one still had connections in Ferelden that kept an eye on things. Abominations, the Blight, demons and possessions followed by the Rite of Annulment nearly being completed, only stopped by the Hero of Ferelden, who had succeeded at what Hawke would fail so spectacularly at only a few years later. It hadn't been common knowledge that Cullen had been one of the few survivors, but between herself and Varric's network that hadn't been much of a secret either. 

Hawke could all too well imagine the torture Cullen must have had endured, now even more so then back then. Every mage could knew that demons did horrible things and most of them had experienced their torture before even passing their Harrowing. On many occasions, that had made her excuse his shitty behaviour because just like Fenris, Cullen had had all reason to be suspicious and hostile. 

"I just wanted you to know, I always considered you a friend. Even after everything." Cullen went on. "I wasn't at my best, I know that now." 

Hawke couldn't help but snort. 

"You want forgiveness. I gave it to you. What more do you want from me, Commander?” she spat his title at him like a curse. 

She and Cullen used to talk in the Gallows or the Hanged Man, late at night playing cards and drinking to much shitty ale. That had stopped after her battle with the Arishok. After that, it had been cold professionalism and vague threats. She had thought better of Cullen. He had seemed a decent man when they had met despite everything, and she had wanted to call him a friend at one point. He had seemed like someone who judged people based on character and their actions not for what they were. 

It was Hawke's fault really, for expecting so much. 

"You fought with me against Meredith, for that you have my thanks." Hawke truly was grateful. The battle had very much cost her everything, her home, her life. Some of her friends she hadn't seen since the battle because they had remained in Kirkwall, Hawke only heard from Merrill and Aveline from letters. Anders was gone, Maker knew where, though she couldn't decide if she was happy about that or not. Isabela and Fenris she hadn't seen since they dropped her off in Ferelden. Sebastian was another can of worms entirely. Cullen's help, just like Nathaniel's and Zevran's had been essential to their victory and without them they surely all would have lost so much more. "But that doesn't mean I consider you a friend." She told him. 

Cullen took it as well as she had expected of him. He nodded at her words and said, "I understand." Hanging his head like a kicked puppy. 

Hawke had to be honest with herself. She had missed him, if only for being terribly nostalgic of the old days in Kirkwall. People tended to idealize times passed and she was no stranger to it. Time had turned get-mugged-three-times-a-night-templar-infested-shithole-Kirkwall into the home she had always yearned for and could never return to. In reality Kirkwall had always been kind of both. 

"Commander." Hawke said and waved him closer. "Have a drink with us." Everybody deserved a second chance, and Hawke was getting too old to hold grudges. It didn't get her anywhere anyway. Maybe she would even seek out Anders. 

Cullen blinked at her, confused, but came at her beckoning. "Isn't it a bit early?" He asked.

She shrugged and put an arm around his neck to pull him along. "I will gladly drink your share."

**Author's Note:**

> EXTRA special thanks to my wonderful, amazing Beta vaguelyreferential, I could not have done this without you
> 
> EDIT i keep trying to get the italics right but ao3 doesnt want me to so please excuse that


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